Analyses and Ponderings
by ALLinFAVORofART
Summary: Drabbles and my first try at fanfiction...some Zutara spice in some of the drabbles. Please read and comment
1. Chapter 1

((Disclaimer: I do not own A:TLA, but merley my intellect, regardless of the margin or lack thereof...)) Written after seeing this particular scene and analyzing it. I realize we are far past this what with the finale, but since we're all sitting around on our asses waiting for season 3, why don't we dabble into the past?

Familiarly Foreign

Pain rocked his core as consciousness tugged from his weakening grasp. But before blackness, sweet escape from chaos, settled in, the old man heard one last thing.

"LEAVE!"

The single syllable rang out, slicing through the tension Iroh knew filled the atmosphere all around him as he lay fallen in the dirt.

The scream seemed foreign, inhuman, anguish at it's peak. For Zuko, watching the only companion he had left in this miserable world ruthlessly struck down in cold blood was too much. The retired general had to admit, it touched his heart to know that his troubled nephew, an understatement of the extremities, felt such heartache over his prone form. The inconsolable hopeless cry surely sounded odd.

But the scream was half effectively masked by the harsh demand for solitude, for Zuko fought fiercely to maintain his plaguing pride. Lonesome singularity and disguises (even of the metaphysical)- some things never changed.

No matter the disparity of the situation, "Lee" would always be stubborn, prideful Prince Zuko, accepting no help even from the lone young woman who could help the most.

Yes, Iroh heard the bellow of innumerable emotions colliding with harsh brutality.

Before everything

went black.


	2. Chapter 2

((Disclaimer: I do not own A:TLA, but merley my intellect, regardless of the margin or lack thereof...)) Just a random idea of what would happen if a regular interraction between Zuko and Katara happened. Written not even halfway through second season and not relevant to real story line.

Wish

Those who knew her well, as well as those who caught only passing glimpses, knew her to be a healer- a guardian angel gracing the world with her merciful touch. The desire to repair and make well again ran in the girl's blood. Someone hurt himself and she instantly stepped forth and appeased the lesion.

But some wounds refuse to heal. No matter how hard we wish.

She tried her best, she really did, so hard the effort sometimes caused her temples to pulsate in irritating headaches. This time proved different, the wound original. The young man, indifferent and rarely else, refused to be healed.

"You can tell me, you know," she would offer. "Please talk to me!," she would beg. "You need a friend to unload on- go ahead and place your burden for a moment on my shoulders. It just isn't healthy, bottling yourself up like this!" Easily could she tell that her company was always unwanted and that she irritated him (it wasn't like he invited her to come sit next to him in his usual spot _everyday _when he sought tranquility in the slums of Ba Sing Se). She wondered why he did not find a way to ditch her, find another spot. The girl supposed he was sending her a message; "My spot first- you leave because I won't." But every time she offered her healing, he point-blank refused her.

Then one day, she unintentionally nagged him over the edge.

"You know what?" he interrupted her curtly, his flashing eyes narrowing (the good eye closing by a larger margin than the other). "If you want to listen to me talk-fine. You asked for it." He paused, face impatiently scowling as usual. He did not look at her, he rarely did, but rather stared straight ahead as though in an invisible attempt to burn a hole in the unfortunate spot that his gaze rested on. The girl bit her lip slightly in anxiety.

"I wish people would stop pretending to care."

"Zuko-"

"I wish those who knew my real identity would not hate me. I wish there was a way to escape this. Everything. But there is nothing to fix my screwed up life. Life isn't always so easy and optimistic, you naïve girl." His tone was unmercifully flat and matter-of-fact, though the ending insult had added distaste for spice. The young woman frowned angrily and opened her mouth to retort, but she never got to say the spiteful comeback on the tip of her tongue.

"But most of all, I wish you would pack up your false sympathy and leave me the hell alone." Crystalline orbs widened, then softened somberly. An uphill battle-ninety degrees straight towards nowhere. A battle long lost, impossible to win, and suicide to attempt. What was the use? She turned her undeniably hurt gaze to the grass beneath her folded legs, then finally stood. Her back, proudly straight, facing the young man still seated cross-legged on the ground, Katara paused and whispered something he nearly missed but managed to catch as the wind carried her soothing voice to his ear.

"I wish I could walk through fire…and not get burned."

Some wounds refuse to heal, no matter how hard we wish.

-- -- -- --- -- -- -- --- -- -- -- ---

I swear I am a Zutara fan ever faithfully, but I don't see this particular relationship blossoming as vibrantly or easily as others imagine. I imagine there would be obstacles to work around ((Zukosissues)).


	3. Chapter 3

So here I am, trying my hand at drabbles. Disclaimer follows:

Please, as if I really need to tell you people that I own nothing ((and by nothing I mean A:TLA)) but my own intillect. R 'n R please- criticism is welcome, but bear in mind this was written about 2 mths before the finale and is unrelated...

Pondering 

The sun reflects off the moist, green grass as the morning dew winks in the glinting light. Despite the heat and humidity of a summer morning, the water, meager a source as it may be, painting the vegetation contradicts the hot, stuffy atmosphere with its cool touch.

The sunset, spilled paint across a canvas spanning the heavens, depicted a battle scene of attempted dominance between the azure sky and fiery orange clouds.

A stunning and elegant red rose placed beside deep blue violets appears out of place. Yet the two colors blend perfectly with the help of the purple pansy acting as the mediator.

Among the bountiful elements in nature that could keep one alive, fire and water seemed the most useful. With fire, man could roast his food, build a pit for warmth, seek protection from animals, and heat water for multiple purposes. Water kept man alive, because dehydration led to death.

The moon and central star both take places in the sky daily and nightly, never failing in their duties, always rising and falling in synchronization. Both receive their chance at supremacy during an eclipse, either of the lunar or solar.

"Fire and water…" mused a particular brunette waterbender as she pondered the comparisons. And who should happen to pop into her mind at the thought of fire but he himself,-

"Nah. Ridiculous."

But though she laughed the thought off lazily and shook her head in a self-disciplinary manner, she could not help but wonder.


	4. Chapter 4

_I do not own A:TLA, but merely my own intellect regardless of the margin or lack thereof. I own a sketchbook or four and lots of pens and pencils. That's really the extent of it. This was written about a week ago when I saw the finale and watched the ending with my eyes wide, head cocked to the side, and mind wheels turning quickly._

"Serpent's Tongue"

The girl decked out in olive and emerald robes spoke with an eloquence suggesting she spoke her very first words with similarly vainglorious, autocratic tone. She was in fact very persuasive, though not entirely by means purely vocal. Written on her flawless ivory face, gleaming and piercing in her attentive gold eyes, powerful she was; and not simply power, but the imposing strength that comes from the fullest extent of awareness of one's capabilities and the control to wield such force. She was royalty, held the highest above all others from the moment she could cry her first breath and deemed worthy of stepping on the backs of all others so lowly daring to cross her.

And she knew it.

As she spoke to the boy standing to her left, she could feel his free will and conscious mind bending weakly to her tongue. The confliction he felt spilled across his face, pooling in his eyes in a turbulent pit of uncertainty.

The princess rose from her recently acquired throne; though her brother was in fact larger, taller, she managed to stand on higher ground by mounting herself on a golden step before the regal seat. As always she was superior, always holding all the cards. No matter the effort of his struggles, the young man, the older child holding the title of birthright, would always remain a step below her. He would not look her in the eye though her voice silkily wove into a comforting tone. The words she urged onto his mind, the claims encroaching on his previous aspirations, he wanted so desperately to believe. And it sounded so very right.

Then why, if the balance of the world meant him to trust this girl and return home, did it feel so very wrong?

_Author's note:..._

_I do not believe for a moment that there is anyone who can justify Azula's actions and therefor place her in a category other than 'Royal Bitch Who Is Certificably Psychotic'. That's all. Lemme know what you thought of this short piece please. _


End file.
